


Raise Hell

by luckynik



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Dean-Centric, Demons, Drinking, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Impulse Control, Loss of Virginity, Reader-Insert, Sex Talk, Smut, age gap but not underage, demon reader, drunk sex acts, goddess of chaos, spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckynik/pseuds/luckynik
Summary: Chaos in Hell threatens to spill topside as demons and gods war for Crowley’s empty throne. The young demon!reader comes to the boys for help and protection and, with her sudden arrival, Sam and Dean learn Crowley’s last dark secret. And there is more to her than meets the glowy-red eyes.Afterwards, to get his brother’s mind off this girl, Sam finds them a case, and things spiral out of control—literally. Dean’s impulse control wasn’t great to start, but after a run-in with a strange woman in the woods, he starts to lose control of himself…again. Y/N and Sam try to rein him in before he loses it completely, but not before he does something he may not actually regret…





	1. Heavy Metal / Dean

**Author's Note:**

> This one has the potential to be a full length story, but i would really love some feedback before i go all out… just please keep it constructive.
> 
> Also, originally this story was Dean x Claire, to amp up the conflict and perceived inappropriateness of any kind of physical relationship because of the age gap… but i wast sure anyone would actually read that — so i re-wrote the entire beginning and it became a reader insert.

_Eight Days Later…_

Sam’s bulky frame sailed a good ten feet and slammed, shoulder first, into the opposite crumbling brick wall. A stifled curse broke from his mouth on the air pushing out of his lungs. His next breath seemed to choke, instead of sustain life. The demon blade fell to the ground with a loud plink and skittered across asphalt. I couldn't see it. The alley was dark, orangey streetlights flickered on the Main Street. Music thumped from the bar, undulating bass and treble. An intelligible chorus drowning out the ambient grunts and groans of the sudden fight.

My brother struggled against breathlessness as he pushed himself up the wall, fending off the snarling black-eyed biker dude as best he could without a weapon. Two other juiced up assholes advanced on me. Leather and chains from head to toe, a getup worthy of _Judas Priest_ — _Rob Halford_ would’ve been fucking proud.

The first guy had a wild colored Mohawk and wore a studded leather kutte with silver chains across the front and rows of unfriendly-looking spikes jutting off the shoulders. He rushed me and dropped back, as I grabbed the swinging chains and clocked him in the face with a hard left hook. I swung at the lanky asshole behind Mohawk. Strands of long, stringy blonde hair whipped as he dodged my fist and shoved me into the brick with a wave of the hand, immobilizing me.

The second—the _Glenn Tipton_ of the three demons—advanced to take his shot, while keeping me pinned against the wall. His clenched fist flailed, shaking as his fingers squeezed tighter. My chest began to constrict and my heart kicked into an erratic pace. I gasped, unable to breathe. The strain on my ribs I could take, but not the lack of oxygen. Then, my back met the bricks full force. For half a minute I floundered like a fish, unable to draw air into my lungs.

“Not so tough now, eh, Winchester?” The Tipton-wannabe balled his fist a little tighter, glowy light began to seep out from between his clenched fingers. He wound up, drawing his arm back. “Can’t tell you how much I’m going to enjoy this, Dean-o.”

“Come at me, you ugly son of a bitch,” I bit out.

The demon’s jaw twitched, spittle oozing between his yellowed teeth and dripping from his lips. His glowing fist careened forward, into a wild hook, barreling toward my head.

I could take a hit. I’d take whatever this ugly asshole had and walk it off, and then come right back and gank his sorry ass. Then, I’d shove Mohawk’s head into the brick and kick the shit out of him, to give Sammy time to get the pig sticker and gank that other little bitch. I steeled myself for the impending blow…

But the hit never came.

The shaking fist stopped a millimeter away, a wisp from my stubbly jaw. He growled at me, jerking his hand, willing the limb to move, but was unable to follow through.

“I wouldn't, if I were you.” A female voice echoed through the filth.

Every one of us turned toward the sound. The Demon’s eyes yellowed and flicked to the space beside he and I.

A petite young woman stood absolutely still in the middle of the alleyway. The fabric of her gauzy white, almost knee-length dress floated around her on a gust of wind. Flawless makeup. Y/h/c hair coiled into an untamed cascade around her shoulders and back. There was something familiar about her doll-like face, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Just that I recognized something about it…

Sam swung, limply, as the third demon ignored her warning. He yanked my brother up by the button strip of his flannel, preparing to body slam him into the bricks again. The young woman raised a hand and snapped her fingers, splattering bloody little chunks of the burley biker dude across Sam and the disintegrating brick wall.

Without easing his grip, yellow eyes locked on red ones.

She stood a good 15-feet away, but I could see every detail of her delicate face. The red eyes faded back to a vivid y/e/c, sparking even in the dim light of the alley. If I weren’t already out of breath, she would have stolen it then… Holding that gaze for too long would be dangerous. I forced my eyes away from her and glanced at Sam, shooting my younger brother a questioning look— _you okay?_

Sam returned a slight nod, shifting his focus back to the young woman, and lumbering to his feet. He hugged the wall as he slowly made his way toward me, collecting the demon knife from the ground as he went.

“You again,” snarled the greasy Judas Priest reject.

The girl said nothing, only held his gaze.

“Remember who you’re dealing with you fatherless, half-breed mut.”

She cleared her throat and released a hard breath. “Name calling already? Color me not shocked.”

The demon didn't move, or maybe he couldn't. She seemed to hold him there, pinned by her gaze. I couldn't move either. Despite his struggle with her, he somehow managed to keep me restrained against the brick wall. The girl was strong. Energy radiated off her. I could feel the surge. Pure power. _Lots of it…_

“This fight has nothing to do with you,” he spat.

“I beg to differ.”

“You uppity bitch. Just don't know when to stop, do ya?” He turned his head to me. “ _He_ has it comin’.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.”

He growled and the roar of a thousand demonic voices reverberated off the dingy bricks around us—some kind of possessed monkey call. Streetlights flickered. Music from the bar skipped and stalled, and then continued on. But she didn't flinch, didn't retreat, or move a muscle. Not a twitch. Not a single hair out of place. Just calm. And, the calmness was terrifying in and of itself. No fear in her at all. _Why should she be afraid? Heavy Metal over here must be low on the totem pole…_

“You are disobeying a direct order. The boys are off limits to low-level, yeasty, pockmarked, death-tokens such as yourself.”

“Shakespearian,” I grunted.

Sam shot me an incredulous glance, which I translated into: _dude, how the hell do you even know that?_

“What?” I mouthed back. “I read.”

“Let him go.”

The demon gurgled, struggling to resist her hold. He garbled a “No.”

“Let. Him. Go.”

The light emanating from his clenched fist faded fast and his hand trembled violently. Black smoke began to seep from his body in soft waving tendrils. He wailed and roared, but she didn't stop.

A gentle tilt her head appeared to force more infernal smoke from the occupied body. The Tipton-wannabe fought against the pull, until a puff of black burst right through the middle of his chest.

“Demon control?” whispered Sam.

I lurched away from the wall as his hold finally released. Sam sidled up to me, an arm closing around my torso, keeping me on my feet for the moment. We both dropped back, to prepare for whatever came next.

“ _He_ can’t protect you anymore! You little bitch, this isn’t over.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“I’ll be coming for you,” the demon snarled. “You can’t run and you can’t hide. The Winchester’s can’t save you—I will find you and flay the skin from your bones.”

“I’m sure you’ll try, Belial.” The corner of her pouty mouth lifted into a humorless smile, glints of red in her eyes. “But today is not that day.”

A rush of black smoke poured from him, melting into a puddle on the ground. It reminded me of the way Sam could rip demons out of people with his psychic hoodoo. The ground beneath us shook and flared orange, like roasting coals in a fire pit, and then quickly died out.

Mohawk took a step back and smoked out of his meatsuit, while he still had the chance. The dead body dropped to the ground with a hard, unceremonious thud.

As the foul smoke cleared, three bodies lay on the ground. Sam and I and the girl stood in the alley, in a kind of standoff, unsure what to make of each other. She had taken on three demons with fear, a snap of her fingers, and a tilt of her fucking head…to save us from this yellow-eyed douche? _Why?_

“Who are you?” “What do you want?” Sam and I spoke in unison.

“Crowley?”

Neither of us said another word. Tightness returned to my chest, a heaviness that I couldn't quite explain had formed. She deserved to know—needed to know. I wasn't sure why, but I knew she did. And why did I have to be the one tell her about Crowley’s sacrifice in the alt-world to close the portal? _Would she even believe that it happened that way?_ As many times as I’d wished the King of Hell death, the way it had finally come was not as expected. It didn't feel how I thought it would either.

Her steely gaze landed on me, I felt it shift from me to my brother and back. Sam and I glanced at each other, and both of us turned our eyes toward the ground, avoiding answering her.

Sam usually took the lead in situations like this. Sam knew what to say and how to be compassionate with victims and the victim’s loved ones—even when they were monsters. But this time he didn't. _Of all the times to keep his fucking trap shut…_ then he shot her the most pathetic puppy-dog eyes he could muster. I grumbled and shifted uncomfortably, gnawing at my bottom lip. Finally, bringing my gaze back to hers, I prepared to deliver some ‘sacrificed himself for the greater good, oh and bonus points for trapping Lucifer in another hellish dimension’ anti-hero-esque speech that I wasn't sure he deserved. Then, my eyes landed on her plush, glossy bottom lip…and it trembled, _hard_.

Words failed me. My mouth opened and closed more than once.

That was the only slip in her artfully arranged façade, and it was so fucking powerful that I couldn't tell her. The immediate urge to comfort the young woman welled up inside me, catching me off guard. After an extended moment of silence I realized that I didn't need to say a word. _Because she knew…_

Foreign emotions assaulted me, prickling across my skin and raising all the little hairs on my arms and neck. I felt a jumble of heat energy radiate off her. Each emotion swept over me, like a wave curling and breaking against the surf. It didn't seem to have the same effect on Sam and I wondered why? Demons had no empathy, no real emotion—what the hell was this? While she struggled to keep her composure, I resisted rushing toward her and pulling her into my arms. _What the fuck? God_. I resisted hard, willing my feet _not_ to move. Not the first time I had felt this kind of unnatural urge with a chick. I knew it was something that should not be indulged, no matter how bad I wanted to go to her.

She must have known what I wanted to do, that certainly would’ve explained the awed look on her face as our eyes met.

“I’m sorry.” My brain ticked through other things to say, but nothing seemed appropriate or important.

“You always are,” she countered.

I couldn't bear to look at her anymore and cast my eyes away, tracing the cracks in the broken asphalt beneath my boots. It was our fault—my fault. _Again_. We couldn't stop it. We couldn't stop the Nephilim from being born. We couldn't kill it. Shit, we didn't even know what we were going to do with it now that he’d been born. We had nothing to fight Lucifer. We couldn't kill him. We couldn't find another way to close the portal before Crowley offed himself. Hell, we couldn't even save our own mother, after walking through hellfire to get her back from those English douchebags. Couldn't save Cass. We lost. _Every loss is on us…again._

“No, Dean.” When I looked up she was standing in front of me, inches away. Every cell in my body felt her presence. _Pure power. That explains why Crowley made her business his._ My hands itched to touch her, hold her. “It’s not. It’s not your fault at all.”

Staring into those hypnotic y/e/c irises was a mistake, and I knew it as it was happening. The pull to her was overwhelming, like an invisible hand clenching the middle of my chest and drawing me toward her. I had felt all of this before… I didn't know who she was, or why she was important, but the instinct to protect her welled in the pit of my stomach and sat there like a boulder.  _Who am I kidding?_ _I can’t protect her. Everyone who dares to get close to me dies_. No one with a brain would choose me as a protector, with such an obvious outcome? Why risk it? I’m not worth that risk. I would do my best for her, but in the end it wouldn't be enough, because it _never_ was. _I ruin everything I touch…_

“Don’t do that,” she whispered. “I need you.”

Before I knew it, both my hands came up, fingers skimming up the length of her slim arms. Her eyes widened at the skin-to-skin contact, alarmed and almost fearful. Touching her was like touching a live wire, static electricity. She sucked in a quick, stilted breath and blinked away. Disappearing into nothing. My hands hung in the empty air, as if she had never been there. The loss of her presence affected me immediately, and physically; the boulder turned to a heavy ache, throbbing low in my gut. Emptiness. Emptiness that I was more than familiar with…it was deep, bone-deep, but also a strange comfort.

“What the hell?”

“I don't know,” replied Sam.

He’d been watching the exchange, silently, but I was sure my brother had already formed some kind of opinion. I glanced at him. “Since when are we off limits?”

“Since when is _Belial_ a low-level demon?”

“What?”

“She called him Belial,” Sam explained. “If I remember correctly, Belial rose up with Lucifer during the rebellion. He was the first angel to actually fall in the fight against Michael and the other Heavenly angels. He’s—”

“Why do you even know that?”

Sam gave half a shrug. “He was in the lore. I read about him when I read up on Dagon. He’s the literal opposite of low-level. He is a Prince of Hell, Dean.”

“Prince of hair metal,” I grumbled under my breath.

“Dude. That demon just saved our ass’s…”

“Who is this chick and what’s her deal with Crowley? And why haven’t we seen her before, or at least heard about her? He was the king of running his fucking mouth—how could he not slip about his hot little sidechick? He would have bragged about having that kind of power at his disposal.” The urge to protect her stayed with me. Crowley and I had more in common that I cared to admit, and I began to wonder if he had felt the same way in her presence. _Maybe we didn't know about her because that assclown was protecting her?_ _God. Does she need protection? Why and from who? Obviously from this Belial douche… but now that Crowley is gone who will do the job?_ _On the other hand_ — “Did you see what she did? She pulled that demon—a Prince of Hell—with a tilt of her goddamn head, Sam. With your psychic hoodoo, all hopped up on demon blood, on your _best_ _day_ , you couldn't swing that. That was,” I bit back ‘ _awesome’_ and ignored the incredulous look my brother shot at me. Instead shaking my head, as if that would somehow communicate the rest of my thoughts to him.

“Dude, you okay?”

 

...


	2. Dream Walking / Sam

 

Watching Dean react to that girl felt like Amara all over again. It appeared Crowley had taken her in, most likely to use her to his own advantage. He would have educated her, might have even cared for her. It didn't surprise me that he sought out another powerful stray to take in as a surrogate after trying to play daddy with Amara. It was strategic, all a game to him. 

The gleam in my brother’s eye bordered on unhinged as he stared at the empty space in front of him, like he might come apart at the seams right in front of me, as he rambled about her and Crowley.

I let out the breath I wasn't aware I had been holding when he finally dropped his arms to his sides and looked at me.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Yeah. _No…_ I don't think so, Sammy.”

_He admitted it?_ I expected Dean to grunt that he was fine, bottle it up and shove it down like he always did. Soldier on, without another word about it. Revert back to the cocky, self-assured older brother I’ve always known—until the next time we ran into her. Then it all would come unglued again. That was his number one defense mechanism and it unnerved me that he didn't do that.

I swung my arm, rotating my aching shoulder. The stretch felt good, but soreness radiated all the way down my back.

“You okay?”

The brick wall was unforgiving. “Fine.”

I followed his lead, only because I wasn't sure what else to do—or what my brother might do if I said the wrong thing. After another long pause, he turned and sauntered down the street, back toward the car.

The glossy black Chevy Impala waited curbside. The perfect mirror finish, which Dean had applied himself, reflected the sickly yellow cast of the streetlights. But even that didn't take away from her classic beauty. She was a solid eighteen feet of actual badass. Pure muscle. _Baby_ remained the only female in Dean’s heart, loved beyond measure. His meaty fingers trailed up the side panel as he stepped around to the driver’s side. Dean loved women, of all shapes and sizes, but not one of them had ever claimed his heart the way the stupid car had. No matter who she was, or what came next, this pretty little demon girl wouldn't claim a spot either.

Dean slid into the driver’s seat and unlocked the passenger door for me. He hadn't said a word since we left the alley and I was worried. I watched him shove the key into the ignition and turn it over, the engine roared to life. The throaty jangle began to gallop and grumble. My worry intensified when he didn't reach for the stereo dial, or a new cassette to play. Silence wasn't something Dean handled well. Even if it was the same tape over and over, he always had music on—anything to avoid being left alone with his thoughts.

 

###

 

A week passed…

Then two.

No visits or sightings of the strange demon girl. No lore about her that I could find, in any religion. No rumors. Not even a whisper. Nothing from Belial either, with his threats I had anticipated something from him. Once word got out about Crowley’s death, I expected massive upheaval in Hell and counted on it spilling topside. It was way too quiet.

Dean seemed to come back to himself, after a week of what can only be described as pining. Things started to settle into a relative normalcy—normal for us, anyway. Without Crowley and Cass, there weren’t any ill-timed pop-ins, and no impending doom, end of the world type emergencies. It was difficult to get used to, so I chose to bury myself in research. I’d done a lot of research in the past few weeks, looking for a way to rescue mom from the alternate universe, while somehow keeping Lucifer trapped there. That was a priority. I tried to get my brother to talk, open up and deal with his feelings about Mom and Cass’s death. Hell, even Crowley deserved that much, but he wouldn't do it. Or maybe he couldn't do it.

So, I switched tactics and started looking for a case.

After dinner, I showed him an article I had found online about a small town in New York with a dilapidated forest cemetery, known for it’s urban legends and a headless, bleeding statue. The article mentioned several mysterious disappearances of otherwise normal and responsible citizens and extremely violent animal mutilations—classic demon sign.

“You think this is something else, or just demons?”

“I’m thinking demons, and I think it’s worth checking out.”

“Gateway to Hell,” he said, reading the moniker the article had given the nearby cemetery. “Been there, done that. Already bought that t-shirt.” The corner of his mouth arched into a slight smirk. “But it does sound like our kinda thing.”

And that was all it took for Dean to pack his duffle and start loading up the trunk.

An hour later he wandered back into the library, where I’d been busy pulling some lore books that I thought we might need to bring. Dean had an actual smile on his face and, I’ll admit, his excitement about the potential case was mildly contagious.

“Bags are packed, Sammy,” he said. “Lets hit the bricks.”

“It’s almost eleven… You wanna go now?”

His answer was something between jerking a nod and shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a long drive.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

Sweeping the load of books into my arms, I followed him out to the garage. He already had the trunk open for me. Dumping the books in the trunk, I climbed into the passenger side and shut the door. Seeing him this eager to work was a good thing. Dean wanting to drive through the night didn't surprise me all that much either. It helped him, I think. The drive was a good twenty-two hours, but almost a straight shot to New York. I didn't think he planned to stop at all. He would drive through the night and probably part of tomorrow, and then we’d swap places, and so on, until we reached our destination.

The silence between us was comfortable and it didn't take long for the lull and darkness of the road ahead to make my eyelids heavy…

 

-

 

She didn't look old enough to be out alone, especially _there_.

I walked through swaths of long neglected, dying grass. Half-hidden gravestones covered by mossy, tangled foliage popped up in my path. A halo of dead trees surrounded the platform of the statue she sat on, huge black branches beating against each other. Her face tilted up to meet me, and her eyes focused on mine.

“You need to stop him.”

“Hello to you too…”

Her y/e/c eyes met mine. “You need to stop—”

“Heard you the first time… I’m not sure I can.” And that was the truth.

Her smile was slight, but there. Strangely reminding me of my brother. “You are the only one who can stop him, Sam. You’re the only one who has ever been able to stay his hand. You have pulled him back from the edge before, pulled him out of the fire when no one else could. You can do it now. You need to do it now.”

_True_. I had saved his ass more times than I cared to remember—as he saved mine—and I would do it again, as many times as it took to save him from fate. From any threat and that included _her_. “Why? Stop him from what?”

“There is something he won’t be able to fight.”

“What?”

“In the woods.”

I couldn't blame my brother for the way he had responded to this girl; even in a dream there was something…a pull. The urge to protect her was strong, to shield her from the chaos, but I didn't understand why. It was there, but it didn't drive me the way it had Dean. Where I felt compassion, he felt a deep empathy, a kinship of some kind, maybe more—

She looked so innocent, so helpless. But I knew she wasn't.

My gaze travelled up to the statue behind her, a large stone cross with a tall, broken figure at the front of it. Headless, no cracking or chipping at the neck, the head just lopped clean off. Angel wings extended to their full span. An arm drawn in toward the body, the other arm had broken off at the elbow. Moss and vines and ivy crept up the cross. Looking closer, I could see the discoloration of the stone. Something had spilled from the neck, but I saw no evidence that it had been blood as the legend claimed. Sitting there, she barely reached the angel’s knee.

“That the bleeding statue?”

“It is.”

“And this isn’t a dream…is it?”

“Afraid not.” Her lips spread into a soft smile. “I assure you, you are quite unharmed, Sam Winchester.”

The angels had used the manipulative tactic a lot. Demons didn't usually bother with invading our dreams. I wasn't sure what to make of her using it to talk to me. “So, you’re a dream walker?”

“When needed.”

The protection vibe increased. Something was wrong and I knew it, as surely as I knew myself. She needed something, but wasn't asking. She had come for a reason—more than stopping Dean from hunting. “Why a dream? Why not just tell us not to go in person. I think you know all we want to do is talk to you. Neither of us wants to hurt you, not if we don't have to.”

“You hate demons.”

I said nothing. Any counterpoint would be an outright lie.

“I don't like turning up unannounced unless absolutely necessary.”

“Like in the alley?”

She nodded. “And…it’s not a good idea. You know how your brother is.”

_You do too, apparently_. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she answered after a short pause. “My name is Y/N.”

“How long were you under Crowley’s protection, Y/N?”

“Not long,” she sighed. “Our finding out about each other was fairly recent. My…uh…my grandmother, as it turns out, is the one who arranged for my safety all these years. Surprising really, after meeting her. She’s a bit self-absorbed and power hungry, but a lovely woman…deep, _deep_ down… Stumbling onto him wasn't part of the plan, but I did, and that forced him to deal with me. He took it rather well, considering.”

“And what about your mother?”

“She’s uh… They kept me from her, you see, and now she wants me back and she’ll stop at nothing—”

“So that’s what this is about? Your mother?”

“I figured you might relate to the mommy-daddy situation, your brother especially.”

_Is she saying…oh my god?_ “Wait—so Crowley…you’re…are you his—?”

 

-

 

My head clunked against the window, _hard_ , as the car drifted and fishtailed across the dark two-lane highway. Now wide-awake, I grabbed my aching head and glanced at my idiot brother. “What the hell—drive much?”

“Deer,” he grunted. “Little bastard came out of nowhere, man. Sorry. You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah…I just…” swallowing hard, I blurted out her name. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“Y/N. That’s _her_ name… She just told me.”

My whole body swung forward into a haphazard lunge, hurtling toward the windshield, despite the pull of my seatbelt. I had to put a hand out to keep from braining myself on the dash. As Dean stomped harder on the brake, _Baby_ came to a skidding halt in the middle of the empty road.

“She what?”

“She told me.”

Dean threw the car in park and turned in the seat. “Told you when?

“Just now.”

“Just now?” the repeated words left my brother’s mouth in an uncharacteristically breathy whisper. “Like while you were sleeping?”

“Yeah…she came to warn me, _us…_ She came to warn us.”

“She came to _you—_ ”

“Yes,” I repeated, staring at him. “Wait—your not…”

Dean glared at me, those green eyes darkened to an unnatural hue in the glow of the car light as his brow furrowed deeper. His jaw was set, teeth clenched and grinding, lips taut.

“Oh my god, you are—” I almost laughed. “You are actually jealous of a dream?”

“I’m not jealous—” he ground out. “I just—”

“You are, you’re jealous. You’ve been looking for her for two weeks and she came to _me_.”

“Sam—”

I had to chuckle. “You _so_ are.”

“Shut up.” Dean cleared his throat, unable to deny it to my face anymore. He adjusted in the seat and wracked the steering wheel, but didn't take off just yet. “What…what else did she say?”

“You mean did she say anything about you? Well, lets see…” I teased, unable to help myself. Dean’s scowl only deepened. “Dude, all she said was that I need to stop you from going on this hunt.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Something’s out there, Dean.”

“There is always something out there, Sammy. And we’ve never ever let crap like that stop us. Why start now?”

We had been through so much, so fast. Too fast. The Mark of Cain, being a demon, Amara, the torture of the British Men of Letters, Jack, _Mom_ … I wanted to follow her advice and stop him. If I could spare my brother needless hurt or pain in any way, I would, in a heartbeat. No question. Especially after everything… especially knowing we were running headfirst into something else he wouldn't be able to fight.

“She is seriously concerned.”

“Well, ain’t she sweet.” He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. “She’s a fucking demon, Sam. Do I need to remind you what happens when we start getting friendly with demons?”

The way he said it sounded more like he was reminding himself, than telling me. “No, I know…”

As I let my voice trail off I knew he wouldn't let the silence hang. And he didn't. “Come on, man. I know there is a ‘but’ coming.”

“But—”

Dean stared straight ahead, eyes trained on the road. “Spit it out, Sam.”

“I’m not sure that she is just another demon.”

“What—we saw her,” he pointed in the general vicinity of his face. “Red glowy eyes, remember? Crazy powers. Crossroads bitch of some kind.”

“She’s so young, though. Obviously sheltered. I mean I can see Crowley taking special interest in her because she’s a crossroads baby, but something is not right there, and I’m not sure we want a piece of that action. We need to tread carefully on this one. Okay? We can’t afford to wing it this time. We need to stop and gather more information before we do anything.”

“Maybe she just has a thing for young meatsuits, like Lilith.”

“Really? Did you hear anything I just said?”

 

...


	3. Hello, Boys / Reader

 

“I am mildly offended by that.” Both their heads snapped toward the backseat, in my direction. A quick glint of silver, and then two nickel-plated barrels pointed in my direction. _“Hello, boys.”_  

“Y/N?” gasped Sam, silky hair flapping as it settled down around his ears. He jostled the pearl grip in his hand and lowered his weapon.

“I am _not_ a meatsuit! This is 100% my body, thank you very much. And I’m not that young, I’m almost twenty.”

“Almost,” grunted Dean, slowly withdrawing his gun as well. “Not even old enough to drink.”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, your age limitations and restrictions don't apply to me. Also, _not_ some ‘crossroads bitch’.”

There weren’t any strong suggestions or sensations coming off of Sam, but they poured off Dean—his first thoughts were _‘too old’_ and _‘way too old for her’_ and it made the light in his eyes dull and the corners of that luscious mouth turn down in a heavy frown. Had I listened more when Crowley explained the finer points of mind reading and controlling humans, I probably would have gotten more from him. But, I had been a poor pupil.

“I saw the eyes, sweetheart.”

“Little gift from daddy. Doesn't mean I ever had the job.”

“Y/N,” Sam asked, “what happened to coming in person not being a good idea? Did something happen?”

“Girl can change her mind, can’t she?” I settled into the backseat and grabbed the seatbelt straps. “Isn’t that a thing?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, watching my reflection in the rearview, as the click of the buckle sounded through the car. “W-what do you think you’re doing?”

“If you’re not going to heed my warnings to stay out of the woods, you’re forcing me to come with you.”

“What? Hell no.”

“I don't know helpful I’ll be, but maybe—”

“No!” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and that velvety pink tongue slid across his bottom lip. “No… you blink back to wherever the hell you came from. Go hide in the dark shadows till it’s time to pop out, like every other demon.”

“I’ll be safer with you than on my own.”

Self-loathing and feelings of worthlessness oozed off him, but his stern expression never changed. I found it difficult to believe he actually felt that way about himself, after all the good he had done for the world. He had sacrificed so much for his righteous destiny, and still loathed what he saw in the mirror.

He was in the midst of an internal argument. I also found it amusing and ironic that his thoughts were about protecting me, or not being able to protect me during this hunt—getting me killed, when the reality of the situation was that I wanted to come to protect him. I promised and, despite my demon side, I intended to keep that promise. But it hurt to know that he had such a low opinion of himself. How could my father allow that? Somehow, someway, I would try to help Dean see otherwise…

“There. I’m buckled in. You may continue driving.”

“Listen, princess—”

“Arguing won’t do you any good, Dean Winchester,” I said, “I need your help and I’m not leaving without it… I’m not a messy houseguest and I won’t get in the way. I do, however, have one other very small, teeny-tiny request to make.”

“Not messy?” Sam let out a soft chuckle.

“Tell that to Sons of Anarchy in the alley the other night…”

“I’m coming,” I declared.

“Awesome,” Dean grumbled. “Why come to us?”

“Crowley said if anything happened to him I should find you. That…that I could trust you.”

The expression on his face became unreadable and his voice quiet, “What’s the request?”

“Teach me to fight properly…maybe some techniques on how to get someone to talk.”

“Torture? You want us to teach you to torture people?”

I leaned into the seat. “An area you excel in, from what I understand.”

He flinched, as if my words had made physical contact. I knew every detail of his time in Hell and what he had done as Alistair’s whipping boy. “Why would you need to fight? You deal plenty of damage with the snap your fingers.” His green eyes flicked back to mine, in the rearview mirror. “You can pull a demon with the tilt of your head, God knows what you’re capable of.”

“I’m not sure Chuck has much to do with it, Dean.”

His eyes widened a little, skeptical. “You know him, too?”

“And sure, snapping my fingers is a useful trick, but Belial has an army of beasts at his disposal and I need to prepare for that. He wants to take the throne, but he can’t do it alone. He’s raising a literal army, boys. I could go around blowing everyone to bits, but I won’t get very far if I can’t get information out of his minions, now will I?”

“Hellhounds don't talk.”

“Not just hounds,” I hissed. “He’s creating a whole new army of Drudes and Hellions. They’re running amok in Hell as we speak. It’s upheaval and chaos and it cannot continue.”

“So they’re raising hell in Hell.”

“She kind of has a point, Dean,” added Sam. “Hard to gather intel, if your go-to move is blowing someone into chunks.”

He shot his brother an annoyed glance, then his eyes came back to the rearview. “Crowley didn't—?”

“No. Apparently, fisticuffs are unladylike.”

His jaw clenched, creating a slight hollow in his cheek, followed by the grind of his teeth. He didn't like it. “Just enough to get you out of a jam quick. No weapons to start. I’ll teach you some basic hand-to-hand combat and how to get out of holds and ropes. We’ll go from there.”

“Deal.”

Both boys swallowed audibly, as the same thought hit them at the same time. Of course, I knew they had previously made deals, or tried to in Sam’s case. The deal Dean made to save his brother earned him decades in Hell. But here they sat…alive to tell that tale. The heat filtering through his gaze made my stomach flutter. _Kiss… Kiss me._ Those pearly white teeth dug into his fat bottom lip, tongue teasing across the spot he nipped. _Right… because all crossroad deals were sealed with a big wet kiss_.

I had to laugh, making light of it, instead of ignoring the want laced through his delicate features. “I already told you, not actually a crossroads demon. Not that kind of deal, luv.”

With a grunt Dean shifted the car back into drive and stepped on the gas. His lips pursed and relaxed, and I could have sworn I spotted a flicker of disappointment mar his face just before it slipped back into the protective, stoic mask he wore. Though, I’m sure that was only me. Projecting.

“Okay,” he finally said. “If we’re going to do this rule number one is no using your powers on us. Not on me, not on Sam. No blinking—you or us—anywhere. No mindfucks. No more dream crap…nothing, nada. You break the deal I break you. No second chances.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Anything other rules you wanna lay on me, big boy?”

“Yes,” he almost shouted. “And I’ll let you know the rules as I think of them.”

 

###

 

Dean drove until he couldn't anymore. We stopped at a diner for late breakfast in South Bend, Indiana. Sam ordered a large basic salad, a fruit bowl, and some grilled chicken, while Dean went straight for a greasy bacon cheeseburger and a pile of salty French fries. It amused me that the brothers could be so similar, yet so different.

Watching him eat, however, had an unexpected effect. Pure delight and enjoyment washed over his face. The giddiness as he picked up the burger for a bite, the ecstasy of shoveling fries into his mouth. Messy. Chewing. He made borderline obscene noises while eating. Actual happiness flushed through him, however momentary. The simple act of eating brought him so much joy and it had me spellbound. It was truly a thing to behold.

The peel of Sam’s ringtone pulled me from my reverie, which was a good thing. I was so distracted by Dean’s eating process that I had been blatantly staring at him. I couldn't do anything more than pick at my pancakes. Not that I needed to eat. I had learned to mimic the act, as a way to blend in among humans. Honestly, by that point, he had to have noticed me leering at him like a creeper.

“Hey Jody,” said Sam, as answered the phone. “Course, what’s up?”

Dean’s gaze shifted from the cheeseburger to his brother.

“Hang on a sec,” he put the phone to his chest to muffle the speaker. “Jody’s in Chicago says needs help with a big vamp nest. Bigger than she thought, I guess.”

“Kay—so we’ll go,” said Dean pushing another fry into his mouth. “It’s a little backtrack, not too far out of our way though. We go roll some heads, and then go to New York right after. Little detour, no biggie.”

“And more people will die in New York.” Sam shook his head. “Y/N is with you, and willing to help, so go to New York just like we planned. I’ll catch up right after. Won’t be more than a day or two behind you.”

Dean’s jaw twitched. He did not want to split up. Sam was more than capable of handling the situation and Dean obviously knew that, but letting him go was another situation all together. The eldest Winchester glanced between Sam and I and agreed, begrudgingly. It was also at that moment he decided we were getting a room. He wanted to sleep in an actual bed, before attempting the second leg of the journey without Sam as a secondary driver.

I could have easily solved this problem for them, a little blink to deliver Sam to Jody, and then blink him back after they finished. I was fairly certain I could blink the whole car to New York as well. The time saved would be worth the energy drain. But I had already promised not to use my powers on the boys. So, I said nothing.

By the time we finished our meal, they had a new plan worked out. Dean drove over to the motel across the street and rented us room. Shortly after that, Jody arrived to collect Sam. My stomach fluttered somewhere between nervous and anticipation of things to come, because when they left, Dean and I would be alone for the first time…

“I only need four hours.”

“Will the television bother you?”

He shook his head, scrubbing a hand down his stupidly handsome face.

“Good.” I smiled, picking up the remote control. “I’m so behind on Dr. Sexy, dying to catch up.”

“You…like Dr. Sexy?”

I met his interested gaze. _He watched?_ “I can wait, we can watch after you wake—”

“No, no…” he sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the door and began untying his boots. “Go ahead. But I want all the spoilers later.”

He didn't take anything else off. I supposed that if I hadn’t been there he probably would have slept in his boots too. Dean settled on the bed, facing away from me, while I flipped through channels.

“Why me?” he whispered.

I wasn't sure whether or not the question was rhetorical, but felt his self-esteem need an answer anyway. “Because you’re a hero.”

 

###

 

I hit the pause button halfway through the episode. Dean had fallen asleep on his back, fully clothed, his arms folded defensively across his body, hands fisted, stiff as a board, and his face turned away. That broad chest rose and fell in the most fitful way. The light snoring didn't bother me—it was the shouting out. He didn't look comfortable at all. His body jerked hard as muffled grunts and groans slipped from his lips…nightmares.

He moaned something that sounded like ‘no’ and then a slur of his brother’s name. Perhaps not a nightmare, but something he had lived through?

If he would let me, I could to help with that too. I wanted to help. I could step into his dream world and soothe him enough that he might actually get some rest. But I didn't do it. He said no more powers. That meant no dreams. He would get angry with me for breaking the one rule he had given me. Demons weren’t known for keeping their word, but I wanted to earn his trust. I needed to. I didn't think he would help me with mother otherwise.

The distress on his face worried me, the way his brows knit together. I slid off my bed and climbed onto his, without any real idea of what to do. After shuffling the pillows, I propped up against the headboard beside him. Dean’s large body rolled toward me, muscular arm curling low around my abdomen. His head snuggled on my chest, face mashed into the valley between my breasts. His soft, sandy brown hair feathered between my fingers as I gently stroked his head.

I liked him. I liked both of them—though I wasn't supposed to. But Dean… Dean Winchester left a trail of heartbroken, but sexually satisfied young women back and forth across the countryside. I couldn't imagine the kind of woman who might capture the heart of the wild Winchester. He wasn't the type to settle down or domesticate. But I couldn't help that I liked him, nor would I apologize for it. The fool couldn’t even bring himself to utter my name aloud, and I liked him despite that.

His grip on me stayed tight. After several minutes, his brow began to soften, and finally relax. He fell into a more restful sleep and suddenly looked so boyish and innocent, though I knew neither of those terms accurately described the man in my arms. I picked up the remote and resumed the current episode of _Dr. Sexy, M.D_.

 

...


	4. Family BBQs in Hell / Dean

 

“Mmm,” hadn’t been this comfortable in a long time. Opening my eyes was hard. I could have slept for a few more hours, easy. I registered a body beneath me. Soft skin and taut muscle, but that was all. My fingers slid up feeling out the bumps and dips of a ribcage. The side of my face meshed into the globe of a firm breast. Inhaling the mix of vanilla and apple spiked arousal. _Pie._ But I knew the smells were either shampoo or bodywash. I liked it. “Mmm,” I hummed against her chest. My dick was painfully hard, I could feel it straining against the teeth of my zipper. I’d woken up with various women, in countless ways, over the years, but this was…different. 

Finally, I managed to pry my eyes open.

A perfect sweep of winged eyeliner edged the top lid, complimenting the soft smoky shadow, topped with big, bold lashes that kissed the top of her cheekbones as they fluttered closed. The long black eyelashes were false, though flawlessly applied. She didn't fool me at all, the girl liked frilly and pretty. I liked that about her, the opposite of a hunter chick. Y/N was a girly girl, but she could still crush a man to death with a nod for throwing her a sideways glance, and she would do it while wearing her pretty, frilly clothes, without smearing her makeup, or breaking a goddamn fingernail.

_Demon…_ but my dick didn't care.

Rational thought crept back on me slowly. I realized my hand had snaked up her body and my fingers were curled around her breast. The fabric was so thin I could feel the heat of her skin beneath my hand. She didn't protest or stop me as I tightened my fingers. Why were we in the same bed? How far could I push this? What would she let me do? I had started a mental list of all the things I wanted to do to her almost a week ago and fully intended on working my way through it. How far would I get if I flipped her on her back right here and now and began a strategic plunder of her body?

_She’s a demon, idiot._

Don't care.

_She’s too young._

I took a shallow breath and squeezed my spongy handful a little harder. The way her lips parted in a gasp, I was sure no one had ever touched her before. She stared at my hand. The innocence on her face was too much. _Way too young for what I’ve got planned…_

_Stop._

_Stop right now._

_Control yourself, perv._

Pins and needles shot through my other arm, I’d been lying on the fucker the entire time and it was deadass asleep. My dick twitched in protest as I let go of her perky breast, letting my fingertips graze the budded nipple. _She wants me too…_ Pushing up off her was a struggle, the numbness refused to hold my bodyweight, and I didn't get very far. Her hand landed on my arm, fingers cuffed around my bicep to steady me.

“Hey,” my voice came out thick, groggy from sleep.

“Hey yourself.”

Meeting her gaze was a mistake. My head hovered inches from hers, eyes shining, wetted lips a breath away. _Jesus_ _fuck,_ I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to lap and lick and taste every goddamn inch of that glossy pout. Her other hand made it way to the back of my head, threading into the short hairs just above the nape of my neck. She closed her fist into a comfortable grip, sending a shiver down my spine to my groin. My nose nuzzled against hers. I wanted it so fucking bad.

_Idjit. Cool it._

_Control…_

This was so wrong. I had to stop it. My top lip touched hers. Under no circumstances should I give in to the wanton urges careening through my body. I had to ignore them, get ahold of myself. Control myself.

_Stop. Stop._

Shaking my head, I slid out of her grasp and stumbled to my feet. I had to turn away from her, so I could shift the obvious bulge. But I couldn't shake the rampant want or need.

_Fuck._ “I can’t—we can’t—this can’t happen. Okay? It can’t.”

“N-nothing happened.”

“I know.” Everything inside me shouted ‘to hell with it, climb right back into that bed with her, and climb on top of her’, but I wouldn't do it. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don't.”

“You and me. We can’t hook up. It’s not…we’re not gonna be a thing, okay? We’re not. So, don't get any ideas. And don't get too attached. We’re not gonna run around playing the _Odd Couple_ while we hunt demons. I mean, I already have Sam for that and—”

“Odd who?”

“ _The_ _Odd_ —nevermind.” I turned back toward her. “Point is we’re not gonna happen. I’m not that guy. We won’t hook up, or get together. There will be no showing up to social functions with a hot demon chick on my arm, or attending family barbeques in Hell. I won’t be that guy. Ever. There is no apple pie life for me, demonic or otherwise. Shit’s not gonna happen, princess.”

Her brow arched and her head tilted at me. “What are you talking about?”

Until that moment, it didn't even occur to me that she might not be feeling it. _Shit._ Maybe she didn't feel anything close? _Goddammit_. I cleared my throat, “We have a job to do and we’re gonna do it and we’re not gonna _do_ anything else. No fooling around.”

“Dean—”

“All business,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of demon-y things you’d rather be doing, deals to make, souls to screw, so lets focus on getting the job done and everybody can go back to their lives.”

She shifted to the edge of the bed. “Are you done?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You were having a nightmare…I just wanted to try and comfort you. That’s all. I wasn't trying to put the moves on you.”

_Such an idiot_ … _‘Course, she’s not interested. Why would she want an asshole like me?_ “Oh.” I felt the change in my posture immediately and fought against the sag of my shoulders and droop of my head, lifting my eyes from the ugly carpet. “Yeah.” I slapped a foolish smile on my face. “Glad we… cleared that up.”

Sucking a fresh lungful of air and forcing myself to calm down helped a little bit. Bury the feelings. All the want and need, all the urges…ignore them. I was good at that, bottling things up tight. That I could do. I would never tell her. Y/N would never know about these budding feelings, because I wouldn’t bring it up again. I didn't deserve affection, or love, fuck—I didn't deserve her time… that wasn't my fate. She would never love me. No woman would—not long term anyway. That wasn't me. It was too risky. I would worry about her safety constantly. Wouldn't be able to do my damn job…

Food. Alcohol. Sex. Kicking ass—without those things I’d be crippled by feelings of worthlessness and self-doubt. I had a job to do. I had to shake the rest off and focus on the things I knew were tried and true.

“Dean?”

Y/N would never be available to me.

_Oh_ _God_. I stopped cold—did I really just think that? Want a demon…as my lover, as my—more? My plus one? Ridiculous. That was Sam’s bag. He had the thing for demon chicks and monster girls, not me.

“Hello?”

She’s just a girl I said I’d protect. Maybe if I thought of her as a little sister? Yeah. _Sister_. That was for the best. I could do that. _Sister Winchester. My demonic baby sister_. Sure. _My really hot, evil little sister that I want to fuck into a mattress… No! No. Jesus. Fucking stop._

“Earth to Dean?”

I scrubbed a hand down my face, swallowing. My stomach lurched in protest, from abdomen to groin. It made me uneasy to think of her that way… _Little sister._ “Sorry what?”

“I said…if you’re finished with all of this Byronic despair, we should probably go. Don't you think?”

_Shit. Can she read thoughts too?_ That’ll be the next rule.

 

...


End file.
